by Mia Pride
“Was the man angry at you?” she asked worriedly. Had Jeoffrey been stern to her son…their son?
“Nay. I helped him find more.” Clarice let out a breath of relief. Jeoffrey, though he hated her, would not be cruel to their child. She had to find a way to make him listen to her. She could not stay here over-long, but mayhap she could at least explain herself before they left. She had to. Jeoffrey deserved the truth and if he still detested her afterward, so be it.
When Jeoffrey arrived again with a bucket of water, Clarice was surprised to find his best mate Alastar trailing behind him. He had a sympathetic grin spread across his face and walked straight over to her, ruffling Wee Jeoff’s hair playfully. Alastar had always been the pleasant sort, ever laughing and finding the bright side of life. He balanced out Jeoffrey’s more serious personality well and was the mischievous brains behind most of their well-laid plans.
“Clarice,” Alastar said kindly with a bow. “How good it is to see you after all this time.” Jeoffrey walked past them and grunted just as he poured the water into the cauldron. Was he grunting from the strain of lifting the heavy bucket? Or was his grunt a disapproving response to Alastar’s words? Somehow, she suspected it was the latter, and though it made her cringe to know how little he regarded her, it was not a surprise.
“My thanks, Alastar. I must say, tis nice to see your familiar face, as well. I have traveled far to arrive here. I never suspected to find you both here. How did you end up in Alba?” Somehow, she felt much more at ease speaking with Alastar than Jeoffrey.
“Well, tis a long story, but—”
“Tis none of her concern,” Jeoffrey growled as he strode over to where Alastar stood by the bed and pointed to the door, clearly dismissing his mate from his home. In true Alastar fashion, he was un-phased by Jeoffrey’s rudeness and only shrugged, sending Clarice a conspiratorial wink as he turned to go.
***
Once they were alone again, Jeoffrey turned to Wee Jeoff and said, “I need to speak to your mama, lad. Why do you not go to the byre for a moment to look at the chickens again? I will come get you once we are finished.” The lad skipped off with a smile, clearly happy to have another opportunity to look at the strange new creatures he had just met.
“Clar…I mean, listen,” Jeoffrey cleared his throat. He would not say her name. “I do not know where you came from, how you ended up here, or how you sustained those injuries, nor do I want to know. I will tend to your wounds until you heal, and then I expect you to be on your way.”
She swallowed hard and grimaced. “I have nay home. I have nowhere to go.”
He would not feel sorry for her. “Tis nay problem of my own. Had you not abandoned me all those years ago, you would have had a home. You would have been safe, cared for…loved,” he croaked that last word and cleared his throat. He knew speaking to her would be dangerous. He had to keep this brief. “I do not care where you go, but you cannot stay here beyond your recovery. I started my life over. I moved on. This farm is all I have now…all I need. I will not have you tainting it with your presence.” He was being an arse and he knew it. But being cold was the only way to keep his distance. Any tenderness could be his undoing.
“I understand,” she whispered.
“Good. Let me tend to your wounds and then I will fetch Jeoff—er, your son.” He would not ask why she had named her child Jeoffrey. Mayhap she had regretted her decision to leave him once she had married Harrold. Most likely Wee Jeoffrey was Harrold’s son. Where Harrold was, he had no idea, nor would he ask. That was also not his problem.
“Tis quite a bruise you have on your cheek, lass,” Jeoffrey resisted the urge to comfort her and touch the wound. He would not show her any undue tenderness. “Where are your other injuries?”
“In truth, I ache all over, but my knees are the worst of it. I fell hard and can barely walk.” She shifted her weight in his bed, probably just as uncomfortable with this situation as he was.
He touched the bottom hem of her torn and dirtied blue dress and hesitated. “May I?” She frowned and averted her eyes, but nodded her consent. Jeoffrey gingerly lifted the dress passed her ankle and already felt anger flaring in his blood. A huge bruise wrapped around the tender flesh of her left ankle, clear finger marks spread across her skin. Someone, a man most certainly, had grabbed her quite hard. “Who did this to you? Certainly not Harrold?”
Clarice bit her bottom lip and shook her head, tears brimming in her piercing blue eyes. “Nay, not Harrold. Jeoffrey, I need to tell you—”
He put up a hand to silence her. “Nay. You need to tell me nothing. I told you. I will help you heal and you can go back to whatever life you have created for yourself. Tis not my concern.”
“It is your business, Jeoffrey, I assure you. If you will just listen…”
“Nay!” he growled and clenched his jaw. “Do not talk or I will send you away now, before you are healed. My help is contingent upon that stipulation. You do not speak to me about Harrold, our past, or anything personal about yourself. One word and you will be out on your arse! Do I make myself quite clear?”
He knew he was being a terrible brute to her, but by all the gods, the woman still tore away at his heart piece by piece. Seeing her wounded face, and now her ankle, he wanted to slaughter the man who did this to her. But she lost the protection he could offer her the day she left him without so much as a word. He must keep himself unfeeling. He must.
A sob broke through her pursed lips and she nodded in understanding, looking down quickly, but not before he saw the new stream of tears rolling down her dirt-streaked cheeks. “Och, may the gods give me strength,” he mumbled under his breath. It was not easy treating the woman he once loved so foully. It went against all his better judgment. But he could not trust her, nor could he allow his hatred for her to lessen and be replaced with any other emotion, not even sympathy.
He lifted the hem of her dress higher still, hearing her hiss in pain as the fabric dragged over her knees. A hiss escaped is own lips when he saw the injury that caused her so much pain. Both knees were scraped up badly with caked on debris mixed into the still open wounds. Dried blood cover much of them, but some fresh spots still oozed. In that moment, he understood. This was not the cause of a mere fall. Someone had grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her down, then dragged her slightly. With so much debris in the wound, she was at risk of infection, if she did not already have one.
“This needs to be cleaned, lass.” He walked away from her and went over to a large wicker basket standing tall in the corner of his home. Opening it up, he rushed over to the cauldron and submerged the strip of linen into the boiling water, then walked away to grab a jar. Silence consumed the house. Only the sounds of the bubbling hot water and the pop and sizzle of the fire could be heard. He was worried she would get a fever. This wound had been much too filthy for far too long.
Using a long iron rod, Jeoffrey removed the linen from the water and let it hang over for a good moment until it was cool enough to touch and wring out the excess water. “I am sorry I did not check your wounds last night. I pray tis not too late to prevent a fever.” He strode over to her with the clean linen and salve jar. “This salve was made for me by our healer, Morna. I will have her check in on you later today.
“My thanks,” Clarice murmured and kept her head down.
Sitting down gently next to her, he tried to squeeze the clean warm water over the wound, but too much of it had dried or become embedded. He shook his head. “I need Morna’s help on this. You need to bathe and soak these wounds.”
Her breathing increased so rapidly he could hear it without so much as looking at her. “Tis alright, lass. I will send for her and take Wee Jeoff with me to Alastar’s while she tends to you. She will inform me when you are done. Do you have a spare dress in your satchel?”
“Aye, Jeoffrey.” He paused and stiffened. Hearing his name on her lips brought back far too many memories. Memories that cut deeper than the scrapes on her knees.
He needed to get away from her.
“Very well.” He stood swiftly and left the house without looking back.
Chapter 3
A light rap on the door had Clarice jumping out of her skin. She must have dozed off after Jeoffrey left her so abruptly, which was just as well. She was not certain what hurt more: the wounds of her body, the wounds inflicted by his venomous words earlier, or the wounds of the past. Combined, they created an ache so deep that Clarice supposed she was better off sleeping. Jeoffrey refused to even say her name. He must truly despise her.
The knock came again and Clarice bid the person to enter. She was unsure how long she slept, but she assumed it must be the healer come to bathe her and clean her wounds.
The woman who walked in did not match the image Clarice could have ever expected of a village healer. She was tall and thin with a very narrow waist and breasts much too large for her small frame. By the high cut neckline of her simple beige wool dress, it was clear to see the woman was a modest one, trying her best to cover herself, but there was not enough wool in all of Alba to disguise what this woman had beneath her clothing.
“Good morn to ye,” the lass said with a soft lilting voice through her perfectly shaped pink lips. She flipped her blonde waves over her shoulder and sent Clarice a beaming smile. The lass even had perfectly straight white teeth and twin dimples. She was a bonny lass for certain, and could not be any older than Clarice’s one and twenty summers.
“Good morn,” Clarice smiled warmly back. “You must be Morna, the healer?”
“Aye, that is correct. I have come to bathe you and help your wounds. Jeoffrey says ye have some rather painful injuries,” Morna frowned in sympathy. “May I see?”
Clarice nodded and raised her dress above her knees. Morna gasped and clutched her over-large chest at the sight of the grimy wound. Her eyes moved lower and Clarice knew Morna also saw the bruise around her ankle.
“Dear lass. A man did this to you, did he not?” Clarice closed her eyes, willing no more tears to shed, and nodded her head.
“Tis your husband?” Morna suggested as she dragged a small wooden tub from one side of Jeoffrey’s home to the cauldron of boiling water. Pulling on a chain overhead, she tilted the cauldron over, effectively emptying the steaming contents into the bath. It only filled the tub up less than half way, but Clarice supposed it would do.
Going back to the door, Morna then grabbed a large bucket just outside and hefted it inside the house, dragging it along the floor and dumping the cooler water into the tub. The bath hissed as the cooler water mixed with the hot. “My thanks for your help, Morna. I wish I could assist you.”
Morna wiped her sweaty forehead and stood up straight, waving Clarice off. “Nay. I am used to this. Tis nay problem at all, my lady. Let me help you into the tub.” Clarice sat up straight as Morna came over and wrapped an arm around her waist, hefting her out of the bed. Clarice hobbled and groaned. Her joints were stiff and every time she bent her legs, the scabs on her knees re-opened most painfully.
“Miss, I will do my best to prevent fever, but I cannot make you a promise. Tis quite a nasty and dirty wound you have.” They slowly made it over to the tub and Morna helped her out of her tattered gown. Clarice very carefully stepped in and lowered herself into the hot, steaming bath with a sigh. Her entire body hurt in the worst way, and yet the water soothed her aching muscles. Carrying Wee Jeoff for an entire day and night had stressed the muscles in her arms, back, and legs.
Morna sprinkled some herbs into the water, and the smell of lavender and peppermint instantly filled Clarice’s senses. She could not help but tilt her head back with a sigh. “Tis most wondrous, Morna. My thanks.”
“I’m very pleased to help, Clarice. Any companion of Jeoffrey’s is a companion of mine,” Morna said with a wistful sigh. Clarice stiffened in her bath. Was Jeoffrey involved with Morna? It was none of her affair, but the woman was certainly more beautiful than Clarice could ever be. Even in her plain beige dress with a high neckline, she was so feminine. The thought of Jeoffrey being with this woman, or any other, made Clarice’s heart constrict. What had she expected when she deserted him? Of course, he had been with many women afterward. Jeoffrey was much too handsome and virile to not have many lassies.
Nay, it was none of Clarice’s affair. “Are you and Jeoffrey…close?” Clarice shocked herself by asking such a forward question, but she really needed to know.
“Close?” Morna questioned and scrunched her perfect little nose in thought. “Nay, I would not say so. He is one of our village’s farmers, so I see him on market days and help with his injuries after warrior training, tis all.” Clarice felt relieved, but only slightly. It was clear by the tone of Morna’s voice that she wished she were closer to Jeoffrey.
After Morna lathered Clarice’s hair with rose-scented lye soap and rinsed it out, she helped her out of the tub and gently dried her off with a large linen square. “Do you have a spare night dress?”
Clarice nodded as she gently walked back to the bed. “Aye, in my satchel,” she pointed to it on the floor. Even the task of bending over to retrieve it herself would be too painful. Fortunately, Morna understood and did the menial task for her.
“Here you are, my lady.” Morna slipped the thin white linen gown over Clarice’s head and helped her get her arms in before pushing Clarice’s head against the soft furs of Jeoffrey’s bed. “Please rest your eyes while I wrap your wounds.”
Clarice sighed and did as Morna suggested, feeling the cool salve as it made contact with her tender skin. It tingled and soothed all at once. The linen strips were wrapped around the balm on her knees tightly. “Tis done. Get some sleep. I will let Jeoffrey know you are clean and resting. If a fever develops, he will come to me.” Morna squeezed Clarice’s hand in support and an instant affection for the young lass came over Clarice. This bonny woman was also kind, caring, and skilled. It was soothing to not feel so alone in this unfamiliar village. At least one person did not despise her.
“I cannot thank you enough, Morna. You have been most kind. May you ask Jeoffrey to send my son to me?” Our son, her mind interjected. But how could she begin to tell Jeoffrey when the man had threatened to throw her out of his house if she spoke on any personal matters? Did the man not deserve to know he was Wee Jeoff’s father? Would he even care? She had to tell him. Mayhap once she was healed and ready to leave, she could risk telling him the entire truth.
Morna nodded and smiled warmly as she made her way out of the house. Sleep was an easy escape from her tense reality and more importantly, her body demanded it. Eyes fluttering shut, Clarice let sleep take over within moments of the door shutting behind Morna.
***
“I am telling you Jeoffrey. This is a sign. You should let the lass speak her peace. Mayhap she has a good reason for all she has done.” Alastar suggested as he adjusted his stance and raised his sword in mock combat. The snow had begun to fall again, but training in the snow was just as crucial as training in the sweltering sun. A warrior must be prepared for battle in all weather. Even in the freezing winter chill, training was a sweaty business and both men had stripped off their tunics long ago.
Jeoffrey raised his sword above his head and brought it down with a clang against Alastar’s. “A good reason? Och, aye. She had a good reason. Harrold. Mayhap his cock is much larger than mine and she wished to be rutted like the whore she is.” He stepped back and breathed deeply as he prepared for Alastar’s advance.
Alastar laughed and swiped his sword at Jeoffrey’s from the side, staggering back with the force of Jeoffrey’s block. “Impossible, mate. I’ve seen your cock. Remember when I walked in on you preparing to plow that serving lass in the byre? Nay…I wish I could forget,” Alastar snorted as he put down his sword and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“You’re disgusting, you do know that, Alastar?” Jeoffrey grunted as he rested on the hilt of his sword to catch his breath.
“Whatever you say, mate. You were the one
discussing your cousin’s cock size, not me. Anyway,” Alastar said as he smacked Jeoffrey hard on the shoulder. “You have a chance to speak to her and get answers. She is an invalid in your bed. She cannot go anywhere. Now is the time to demand answers.”
“Nay. She will heal and she will leave. Forever.”
Alastar shrugged and bent over to pick up his shield. “I know you well enough not to argue. Where are you off to now?”
“Home. I left her son—”
“Wee Jeoffrey?” Alastar interrupted with a raised light brown brow. “Tis a familiar name he has…”
Jeoffrey outwardly ignored Alastar’s implication altogether, though the more he thought about it, the more he wondered why she would name her son after him. “Aye, Wee Jeoffrey. I left him with Clarice after Morna cleaned her up. I must get back. I promised him I would teach him to milk the cattle.”
Alastar made an awe sound and put his hand on his heart. “How very fatherly of you.”
Jeoffrey could not ignore that comment. Fatherly? Why did his heart skip a beat and threaten to jump out of his chest at the sound of that word? He had always wanted a wee wife and children but Clarice’s betrayal had destroyed that. He tried again one more time…although stealing his already married bride for the sake of war had obviously not panned out well.
He wanted to send Alastar a mocking retort, but he had none. Instead, he shot daggers with his eyes at his best mate, scooped his now sodden tunic up from beneath a fresh layer of snow, spun on his heels and stormed back to his home.
“Enjoy your evening with your guests, mate!” Alastar shouted as Jeoffrey strode away.
“Brísfaídh mé do magairlí,” Jeoffrey grumbled under his breath. His mate may not have heard the curse, but it made Jeoffrey feel better to say it, regardless.
***
Returning home, it felt more than strange to be greeted by Clarice and her son. He was used to his quiet, private home life. Now he had a woman and child depending on him for food and shelter. Though it was only temporary, there was something about the responsibility that made him feel whole in a way he had not in a long time. There was a deep-seated, natural instinct in a man to care for a woman and a child. It had been this way since the beginning of time and, though he resented Clarice with every piece of his soul, she was still a woman…a woman he had once hoped to take care of forever. Now, a few days would have to do before he pushed her out his door and out of his life once again.